Family and Comfort
by Riyazura
Summary: A post-Breath of the Wild oneshot. Link wakes up later than usual, but Zelda worries this may be due to a deeper conflict, coming from within... Short but sweet Zelink, admittedly very fluffy despite some minor dark tones.


He supposed he should have remembered when exactly he'd awoken in his aura of serene warmth. The line had been drawn between being asleep and being awake the moment he had heard voices; though he did not consciously think so, they were familiar. Familiar voices that were already prodding at each other jokingly, ready to face the day's adventures.

He could recognize a Zora prince's regal encouragement, a young Gerudo chief's chirps of excitement, a Rito warrior's gruff admittance, and a Goron's timid reticence...

He began to recall why they were present; those four friends of his had all travelled from their separate homes across the continent so that they could all return to the castle, united as newfound friends now that the Calamity had been vanquished. They had agreed to meet at Outskirt Stables, as Riju had been the farthest of the four from Hyrule Castle. After the six of them—the four Champion descendents, Zelda, and Link—had arrived together the sunset before, they had all agreed to spend the night at Outskirt Stables. After that they could decide upon their next line of action.

It must have become morning. From the distant sound of their voices, he could tell they were likely conversing just outside the entrance to the stable. But from the corners of his mind, he could sense that there was one voice missing from the four of theirs that should be present…

He felt extraordinarily comfortable underneath the layers of his blankets—they were as soft as a Highland sheep's wool, and as warm as the Flameblade he would strap to his back whenever he traveled the tundras of Hebra… He stretched his muscles beneath the thick waves of comforters, letting slip an involuntary hum.

The humble clicking of heels and whining of floorboards alike accompanied it. They were rhythmic and quiet, and coming closer. That must be who was missing from their band of Champion descendants…

His presumption was confirmed when he could feel something, warmer than the reassurance of his bed, softer than the blankets of Highland sheep wool, rest silently across the surface of his hand, rubbing it fondly.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Link opened his eyes.

Through the bleariness in his vision he squinted through, he could see whom he loved with her freshly trimmed hair, as gold as the sunsets upon Tabanthan fields of wheat. It framed her face, pulled down by gravity as she stood over him. _Her braids even have the appearance of their heart-shaped seeds, too,_ he thought to himself.

The princess—no, _Zelda_—squinted in a joyful way, but she smiled reservedly; it was as if she was trying to hide the fact that something was bothering her. And especially so, he noted to himself, now that he saw her brows knitted in contradictory concern. He tried to smile reassuringly, watching her eyes of jade that were flecked with countless hazel specks, their mottling slightly duller than usual. They weren't shining like they always did in the light, as glowy as her hair. They were laden with worry.

She began hearteningly, "I don't think I've ever seen you still in bed this late in the morning." She lifted her hand off of his to brush a stray wisp of dirty blonde hair from his face.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, admitting in a morning voice, "I dunno." He shrugged after he rose, sitting himself up with his hands behind him carelessly. He could just make out now that their friends were talking by the entrance farthest away from Zelda and him. They both were practically alone in the inn, with the stablemaster busying himself on the opposite side of his desk. "I guess I was bothered last night," Link murmured.

"What by, if I may ask?"

"Ahm," he ruffled the back of his head, pensively scrutinizing the opposite side of the wooden plank floor Zelda stood on. "The usual," he confessed hollowly, eyes half-open.

They both knew what 'the usual' usually was.

Zelda and he would often speak of the same nightmares. Even though their nightmares both occurred in different forms of torture, the entity behind them was the same. The two of them often dreamt of the Calamity, and of things it had savagely ripped away from them both.

For Zelda, Link knew those fantasies were of her home in the castle she had lived all her one-hundred and seventeen years in. Of her family that had once been joyously whole. Of their four late Champion friends Link had now accepted as the only remaining family from his past life. Of _him, _even just by himself, she had admitted tearfully one full moon's night, that night when they both could do naught but stay awake...no matter how much he disliked that to be the fact.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She persisted.

There it was; that question right there told him she likely had a nightmare last night, just as he had.

He cocked his head in thought. _Great,_ now he knew he wasn't because he had to _think_ about it.

The dream had consisted of the night of the Calamity's awakening, when brainwashed Guardians and legendary Divine Beasts ran rampant, decimating every living being with concentrated beams of fire. It had consisted of his desperate, vicious fights against Guardians in-between the realization that every major Hyrulian city was no more from that point on, one beam of destruction at a time. It had consisted of Zelda's and his grief about the loss of their own families, and what came to be their other family. _Mipha, Urbosa, Revali and Daruk…_

But what had especially stuck in his mind was what he knew Zelda had grieved for the most. It was reliving the last moments in which he had lived a century ago.

Though the nightmare had passed by in a near-incomprehensible blur, he had taken in every nuance within it—the acrid taste of burning homes on his tongue, stinging his eyes along with his oncoming tears. The both of them had run away from the Calamity's army of six-legged pursuers, knowing from the magenta glows that blurred past the corners of their vision that they were being watched all the while. The fact had pushed them onwards despite the sluggish exhaustion that coursed through their limbs, the fact that was riddled with screams of other victims who hadn't run fast enough.

When they could no longer run upon reaching Blatchery Plain, Link was forced to fight. But even with his unrenowned strength, he hadn't lasted long. A limitless horde of tireless automatons had proved to be his demise; he knew it would eventually be, slash after slash piercing through thick steel, and dodge after dodge shirking too-bright lasers—he wouldn't be able to do this for much longer.

Until in the dim light of that night, under the falling sheets of rain, he had seen the pinprick of a red line directed at his heart. He had looked and looked for his princess, for Zelda. He knew she was supposed to be there—_she_ was supposed to be the one to protect _him, _just this once! And right after he knew that this time, Zelda wouldn't be there to save him, the blinding white glare finally signaled his story's ending—

And that was it.

At some point within the timeline of how his night went that he could not reach, the nightmare had ended. But it certainly wasn't right before he'd heard his friends conversing in preparation for the day. That was gradual; that had been _peaceful,_ somehow. Because, as far as he was concerned, they hadn't even fathomed the fact that Zelda or he could've lost much-needed sleep. He hadn't consciously awoken until they had gone so far along as to speak to one another excitedly, already be prepared for the day, while he was still here. _Make that speaking to one another _in ignorance of me.

_Maybe I'm being too unforgiving. Maybe they didn't want to check on me if they knew that was what Zelda usually did. _Zelda _did_ admittedly comfort him the most, especially after recalling a dream as vivid as the one he'd apparently experienced last night...

This dream he'd had was more unnerving than genuinely terrifying, though. Not like they had been in the beginning, when he didn't remember. Then, when he finally did, they had begun to occur in the same vein of what _really_ happened that night the Calamity arose; they were no longer mythical scenarios, imagined from the remaining artifacts he'd seen on his travels spanning back to what that one woman in Hateno referred to as 'the Age of Burning Fields…'

Either that terror he'd had last night was merely unnerving rather than truly terrifying, or he was just getting used to his certainty that each dream he mistook to be reality would be his last. That was likely it, as he hadn't even remembered jolting awake. Maybe that was just the new norm as to how his fears manifested. He could only assume Zelda had accepted this too, as her mood after they'd greet each other in the mornings had become less panicked. Rather, hers had become more secretive as they had been returning to their old relationship. She kept her anxiety to herself. They _had_ only been reunited for the past three months, after all.

So, amidst the memories of their dual struggle against the Calamity that had been all too real, all too personal...their problems had finally become invisible to the world. Even to the friends they had now.

He moved his forehead onto his palm, where he had originally rested his cheek upon. He decided to close his eyes again. "You know…"

Zelda looked at him. He wanted to say more, but he had nothing more to include that was worthwhile. He had already relived it so many times. Telling Zelda now would only reopen the wounds that had just—no, were _still _healing. She didn't need to be reminded that some day, something as bad as the Calamity would show up to kill him again, just as he feared. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did, but he couldn't help being able to recall that night he had died. That numb clarity he had obtained as he had lost consciousness in her arms for that final time, one hundred years ago...

The silence of reality was near-deafening, yet neither of them bothered to fill it.

Then he said simply, his resentment spent, "I'm still so _tired."_

"I know." Zelda's tone was apologetically hushed.

"Do you think it'll ever stop?"

When she didn't reply, he continued; "It's been happening for so long. The nightmares." He opened his heavy eyelids to glance at her with a genuinely knowing look despite the exhaustion written across his features. "It all started for me the day I awoke from the Shrine. All I had to do was get so much as a _glimpse_ of that _beast,_ the Calamity, that same day you told me what it was, to be terrified. I knew I was because I had a feeling it was the thing that made the Great Plateau look so..._ devoid of life._ It must've been the thing that had taken the things I knew I would care about. And then I found out that it _was,_ and exactly _how_ it had. I guess I...wasn't wrong. I mean, I wasn't," he corrected himself hastily.

She may not have been able to awaken her sealing power in time, but that didn't mean that she caused the consequences—especially when she had tried every ruthless solution to gain it.

Zelda reassured him, discerning the truth of his harmless intentions, "Don't worry. I know now that it wasn't my fault."

"No, it wasn't," he added rather uselessly as he dragged his comforter away from him, unanticipatedly surrounded by the bite of cold air. It made him shudder. He planted his feet onto floorboards that were just as unwelcomingly cold when he stood up. "We've already gone through this a thousand times, though. The only thing we know for sure is that 'it wasn't anyone's fault,' and that it's over now. But that doesn't change how difficult it is to continue through the aftermath." He sighed as he lowered his head, resting a limp—still fatigued—hand on the nightstand.

"If you're still exhausted, we can stop for a while." Zelda rose again to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We both know we feel the same way…"

He didn't reply, but instead stood there silently, still as stone. "Maybe we could," he murmured. It didn't feel like they could to _him._

They were far too busy to consider stopping for indulgence. The entire reason they had _all_ put the time in arriving here together at the same time was for business! There also was, not to mention, the fact that Riju was chief of her tribe, and Sidon prince of his. They especially didn't have the extra time to do whatever Zelda and Link liked when they were already so far away from their homes. But it wasn't like any well-intentioned attempts to make him forget his troubles would be inherently beneficial; it would only waste time, because even if it did help for the time being, those nightmares would come back before long…

_...But what if I'm wrong? Do I really seem this devoid of hope? Maybe I don't, but what if the others saw me this way?_

"No, let me rephrase—we _can."_ He then faced her with a new confidence in his sapphire eyes, freeing his thoughts of their weary, morose haze. He explained brighter: "I'm sorry. It's selfish of me to be solely indulgent in the problems both of us share. I'll make myself presentable to our friends, and then we can go over our plans for the day. But, to be honest, I don't know if I want to keep going or not yet." His voice had regained the strength of his knightly mannerisms from their past lives he knew only Zelda could recall. He offered an effortful smile despite this, one that he knew seemed to apologize. "If that's alright," he added sheepishly, clasping his hands together in self-loathing that still managed to eat away at his conscience.

He must remind Zelda of herself, he thought with a gain of clarity. One moment, he had displayed his usual aura of calm and command, but now, he had let slip his doubt.

Zelda nodded encouragingly in understanding, reflecting his expression of hope. She clasped both of his hands in her own before planting a kiss on his forehead. "It's okay. It takes you awhile on the bad mornings, but at least you're still here. You know I appreciate that, right?"

"I appreciate that you're still here, too," Link nodded—he couldn't count the number of times he found her the way she had found him this morning, but in a much more startled, lost way...

Zelda flitted her gaze to the ground in response shyly, but Link was enraptured—he saw briefly that her eyes finally shined a well-defined emerald, and their rich flecks of gold shimmered, just as he knew they were meant to. He added with optimism, "We _could_ just stay right here, in the warmth of these covers… I know it sounds cheesy—"

"_Cheesy,"_ Zelda repeated slowly with a questioning simper.

"—_or_ contradictory to what I just told you," Link lightheartedly scrutinized her mischievousness, "but it was surprisingly pleasant. It was kind of surreal—like, I was finally _blissfully_ asleep—probably for longer than it seemed—but then I heard the voices of our friends and I knew I was awake. Even though I wasn't thinking at all, and I wasn't moving at all... It was just darkness and warmth and voices. Weird," he commented with an air of wonder, before detaching his hands from the golden-haired girl's unwillingly to begin foraging his packs for a change of clothes.

"I'm jealous," Zelda chuckled amusedly. "I wish my sleep last night was _that_ cathartic. It was... as relieving as it normally is, I suppose."

Link's eyebrows lifted in optimism. "Good thing we have today to do whatever we want, if we so choose, then."

"Yes. The others will understand if they find us relaxing here." Zelda had used a voice of regal significance, one so unprecedented for their current conversation that it made Link turn around from where he kneeled to glance at her, mildly shocked. "Really. You can't deny we've both had it far worse then any of them... as inappreciative of them as that sounds. But—oh, for Hylia's sake, we haven't gotten a break since we were in Kakariko!"

Link's gaze returned to his packs forlornly. "I can't deny that you're right…"

Zelda hummed in tepid agreement, before she seemed to recall something. "So, 'soft warmth,' you said." She tilted her head in genuine consideration. "Where's that wolf friend of yours that tags along with you every so often? 'Twilight,' you called him? I just thought, the three of us could snuggle together under the warmth of the same blanket," she joked, ridding the mood of stress.

"Hah, that doesn't sound too far off for him, actually," Link acknowledged with a now-genuine smile, his outfit for the day neatly folded in his arms. "Twilight might seem to be all serious, but I've found him to be quite the jokester if he's put in a good mood."

"And how might you have found that out?" Zelda returned to sitting on the bed, folding her arms questioningly.

The boy 'hrmm'ed for awhile, analyzing the wooden ceiling beams before affirming, "I decided to give him a honey candy in thanks for saving me from a silver moblin. I guess he'd never had a treat like that before, 'cause he was off the walls for the rest of that night…" Link seemed to cringe. "I don't think he meant to topple me over when he so much as _glimpsed_ the game I was going to roast for him over the campfire…"

Link could hear that Zelda was trying not to snicker as he placed his clothes on his nightstand. Ultimately, she couldn't help it; "He sounds like quite the considerate companion!"

"Oh, _please;_ he _is! _He's normally very self-contained. Very... human-like." _'Human.' Huh. _"I haven't seen him that riled up since he had that piece of candy. It was kind of a long time ago, anyway," he reasoned with joyfully squinting eyes, returning to his pack to make sure all of his necessities in it were still organized.

When he glanced up upon silence meeting his words, he saw that Zelda looked slightly agape. She had laid her eyes upon something beyond him. "Well, speaking of…" She had recomposed herself with a quality of playfulness.

Link narrowed his eyes. "Twilight's behind me, isn't he."

"Yes! C'mere, friend!"

Twilight did as he was told willingly, skirting around Link to jump onto the bed beside Zelda rather gracefully for his massive size. That was all he did along with displaying an air of glad composure, however—he didn't pant, or enshroud Zelda in a volley of kisses. Because '_that's what dogs do,'_ Link could imagine Twilight saying. Al_though_ he'd never really heard Twilight talk before… _Could_ Twilight talk? Was he more than merely a beast with blue eyes and equally blue earrings? Link decided not to get too far down into _that_ wormhole of a contemplation...

After all, there was darkness and warmth to return to, to embrace in a true sense of comfort and security now that Zelda was beside him. With her so close, this darkness would not be like the dreadful knowledge of his nightmares, but it would be blissfully oblivious. The softness would be as velvety as a Highland sheep's wool, and the warmth as welcoming as a Flameblade strapped to Link's back amidst the frozen tundras of Hebra.

Zelda offered her hand to Link's, watching him with a pleading smile that invited him to get comfortable next to her. She had taken her steel-toed boots off, adjusting herself beneath his covers with a sigh. Even Twilight had decided to lay half-on, half-off of her blanketed legs, his head plopped down.

Link took her hand, joining them both without hesitation.

The voices, the familiar voices of their four descendant friends outside finally seemed comforting to him now, lulling him into slumber rather than lifting him out of it.

_This is how things should be, _Link decided as he nuzzled his cheek into Zelda's shoulder. He hadn't felt this at peace in weeks—probably months. _Even just for today._

_I never thought it could feel so right to have just a bit of peace._

"Thank you for letting us have this, Zelda," he murmured.

"No worries, Link. I'll always be here for you."

"I'll always be here for you, too."


End file.
